Acceptance...

Sunday. Sunday used to be...different, for me; then the other days of the week. I would wake, every Sunday over the past few months, with a feeling of tension; tautening every muscle of my body. Because Sunday was Weighing Day. Because Sunday was the day I would have to see, and know, my weight.

At the beginning of my fight back against the relapse, me and mam would get out the scales every Sunday afternoon: mam had suggested it, I had agreed to it; knowing, in my heart, this was the only way mam and dad would be able to ensure that I would not slip back on myself; the only way that I, too, would know for a certainty that I was actually gaining weight. And of course, I... hated it. I hated stepping on to that detested square object of bright blue metal, with its shiny surface and silvery buttons and the harsh, glaring numbers upon the screen at its very top. Numbers, which would jump out at me; as loud and as blatant as if they were painted in neon yellow. They were cruel: so, so heartlessly, pitilessly cruel. And the numbers would stick in my head for days after, taunting me, teasing me. You are gaining weight, the cruel voice sneered. You are going to be...so...

And thus, that was what I would endure, every Sunday evening. The fear, and the apprehension. And then, afterwards, the backlash of insults, hurled against me by ED.

And that's how it felt, at the beginning.

But now...

But now, things are different. I have changed.

the tables have been turned; turned by me.

And I never thought I would hear myself saying this, but...I am beginning to learn to not give a damn what the number on the scales is. I know what Mam's target is; I know that I am more or less at that, now. I'll find out today what the exact figure is. And that number....that number no longer terrifies me. It daunts me, a little - but no way as near as much as before. I no longer recoil with horror from that figure. I am beginning to learn, and recognise, that weight for what it really is. A number, and nothing more: save representing a rough idea of the weight at which my body is healthy, and able to function at its best.

To be able to accept my body and overcome the fear of being that weight which is my healthy set point...

This represented, at one time, an enormous, seemingly impossible, unachievable challenge, for me.

But I know I have overcome so many difficult challenges, before now. I gained weight by myself. I got myself back onto my meal plan, following months and months of restriction and starvation once again. I did it. It was me who had the strength. And now I know I have to draw on that strength again. Because I know that it is just a number. A number, nothing more. And it does not mean that I am ugly, or fat, or lazy. This number means nothing to my identity, to the person who is Emmy.

I am no longer afraid, of being at that number. The fear, I have destroyed...

All I need to do now is to find... the acceptance.

To learn to accept, like the little caterpillar must accept these strange new wings upon its back when it emerges from the cocoon, after the long, hard winter, a winter which it thought it would not survive. Am I ugly? It wonders helplessly. No, call the other butterflies, soaring in the sky. These wings are a gift. Your new body is a gift. It will lift you, take you high into the sky. You just need to trust those wings and let them grow and become stronger. You have to learn to accept them, accept the newness, the strangeness, the change.

And then the little caterpillar spreads its wings and flies, high into the sky, high towards the golden, glowing sun.

We can accept this, too. Because a healthy, strong body is one of the most amazing things that God can ever give to us.

One thing I have learnt in this post-relapse recovery, is this. You can and will conquer your greatest ever fears. You can, and will, achieve what you never thought was possible. For me, this meant gaining weight without a hospital admission, getting back onto my meal plan, and learning to accept my body at a higher, healthier weight. And I know that I still have alot to work on, but I know, that I am getting there, slowly but surely. And I hope, that by sharing my story with my readers today, that you will realise that you can do this, too. yes, you. You can overcome an eating disorder; you can and will reach the top of the mountain which is recovery. You can and will find acceptance.

Food for Thought... xxx

So a few weeks into my grand ole' blogging revival (if you wish to call it that ;) ), and so I thought it was time for me to reflect a little on how things are going for me in turns of fighting the ED voice and sticking to my meal plan.

And so, the big question is, of course - how exactly am I getting on with it. And, thanks to the care, support, encouragement and advice of you, my readers (I've said it once, but Im going to say it again.. ( and again and again and again, later on, probably, so apologies if it does get a bit repetitive, but truly, i really do mean it...just thank you, thank you, thank you...you are all just so amazing and you have my eternal gratitude and love <3.) and of my supportive friends and loved ones...I'm happy enough with how I am progressing, at the moment anyway. There's a been a few hiccups, of course - as is usually the case with me, nothing is ever as perfect as I would like it to be. But I still feel as if I could do more, though. That I could push myself that little bit harder. It's an ongoing, furious battle between ED and me: and to say that it is me who always emerges as the victor would be a lie, as this is not always, always the case. The other day, for example, I didn't have my morning snack. I had an absolutely mad morning at college, and what with going to the seminars and running for the train and everything else...the Voice convinced me that I didn't have time to stop for a few minutes and eat my snack..

Over the past few weeks I I haven't been checking the weight either...I suppose this is something which I need to start doing, again. :( it's going to be hard - God knows that I absolutely hate standing on that detestable instrument of torture - but I know it is sort of necessary...just so I can keep an eye on it, monitor it I suppose until I get it bback to where it should be. My relationship with the scales has always been a bit problematic, to say the least. I transverse between phases, as far as my weight and the scales are concerned;the former of which would involve a studious avoidance, and complete distancing from, all awareness of the actual number. In the throes of the latter, on the other hand, I would usually find myself, on a pretty much daily basis, hopping on and off, on and off the darned thing that sits like some sort of grotesque, all-powerful, omnipotent silver robot in the bathroom upstairs; staring, each time, at the digits which would appear above my feet - digits which would thus be ascribed on my memory for the remainder of the day; repeating themselves over and over and over again, driving me almost to distraction as they echo mockingly through my head. So yes, it's true to say that I frequently negotiate between the two extremes. For me, as is for so many others, I am sure, the happy medium always seems so unreachable and unattainable.

Anyway. I am working on it, and I will keep on working on it. I don't want to live my life in fear of the number. I mean...it's a number!! And I do not need a skinny identity to be happy...no matter what that b**** of a Voice says. 

so here are my Goals for the Week :) - 

• Have a scone with hot choc for afternoon snack on Sunday
• Have 2 tsp of peanut butter on my toast instead of 1
• Clean my pudding bowl and my dinner plate every night from now on
• stick to meal plan 100 %
• Have egg mayo in my roll on Tuesday

I am going to see how this week goes anyway and then based on that I might try and increase my intake again soon, depending on how I get on.

Anyway: here is the plan for tomorrow: and by writing it on here, I know that I WILL stick to it, one hundred and fifty percent. <3 xxx

Hot choc + marshmallows with Lizzy...the chocolate snowflake on top really made my day <3

Breakfast: Multigrain toast + 2 tsp peanut butter
                  Bowl of malt wheats + milk

Mid-morning Hot choc <3

Lunch Brown seeded roll, cherry tomatoes, cheddar cheese
           Green apple

Afternoon snack Hot choc <3
                              Blackberry scone and spread

Dinner Salmon, roast potatoes and vegetables
             Banana, custard, and bbar's worth of chopped Milka Oreo. <3

Bedtime Hot choc <3

Thank you so, so much for staying with me. Your comments and advice and emails, and everything else; even for just taking the time to read my blog. It really does mean the World to me. I could never have gotten back up again without your help and I just want you all to know how important you are to me. <3 xxx

The Fear...of the Number...

Those eight years before I was officially diagnosed with an eating disorder, I never had so much an an inkling of what my actual weight really was. Unlike many victims of anorexia and eating disorders, I never weighed myself, never went to great lengths to calculate my bmi; or even counted calories: all things which I used, back then, as evidence against the possibility that there was actually anything wrong with me; that I had an eating disorder. Which was stupid, of course,and I clearly see now just how ignorant I really was; but what is done is done, and I know I can't change the past.

It was only when I went to the doctors on that fateful day, back in october 2014, when I became aware of my actual weight and what that actually represented. I had stood there staring at the figures, trying to hold back the tears of shame and guilt that prickled my eyes as my doctor told me that I was very underweight, and that, if I didn't take action accordingly - if he didn't take action, as well, for it was he who was going to dial the number and bring me to the attention of the mental servies hospital - I could die. Or at the best, cause my body irreversible damage which I would be powerless to prevent or repair. and so he referred me, and I was sent to hospital in January, and it was there when the dreaded "weekly weigh-ins" began.

My relationship with the scales has been a somewhat tempestuous one, ever since that day when I became conscious of my actual weight. On one hand, I fell into the all too familiar trap of becoming obsessed with the three numerical figures which would replace the 00.0 kg once I stepped upon that measuring device - or perhaps, that should be, a torturing device, in my view. But likewise, on the other hand, part of me was desperate not to look, to be blind the reality which was my weight in kilograms. But the hospital made me start to look. My consultant told me that I needed to face up to it, to stop hiding from actuality.

Now I am at home, and I no longer have to follow the directions and dictations of my care team. The scales is hidden away in the airing room cupboard: I stepped on it the other day and spent ages just staring at the number at my feet, my body as still as a statue, but my mind whirring and racing faster than a kestrel in flight. I'm .... kg heavier than I was 6 months ago. I've gained ... kg since last October, when they weighed me at the doctor's. Heavier... Weight... Kilograms... Bmi...

Weight... Kilograms... Bmi...

Weight... Kilograms... Bmi...

I can honestly say, I am just so, so sick of it, sick to death of it - the constant preoccupation with food, calories, desire to exercise...and, of course, weight, and weight gain, and body shape. At times i literally just want to tear out my brain with my hands, as it feels like I am being tortured from the inside. It feels like I have a siren locked into my head, wailing and blaring 24-7. I would give anything, do anything, for that siren, that Voice, to be silenced.

I just wish , with all my heart, that it was all over. :'(

I just wish it was all over. I just wish I could go back in time, to the time when I was free.

Anyway, here is my plan, of sorts. To go to the clinic on Tuesday (for my post-discharge appointment) and I will look at the number on the scales, and I will ask my consultant about it. Whether it is a healthy weight or not, because, to be quite honest, I actually don't know what my goal weight actually is. I don't know whether I am at it or do I have a few more kg to gain, or have I gone over it, or what: Ijust don't know, but I know, that I need to find out, even though it wil cause me so much anxiety. But I have to learn to handle and mangae that anxiety, to overcome it, to be stronger than it. One thing is for sure: I do NOT want to become the girl, who is obsessed with the numbers. Who is hopping on and off the scales every hour of every day, checking and staring and driving herself mad with frustration, crying every time she sees the number trickle upwards. No. That is NOT going to become me.

And I am going to listen to my doctor, my loved ones, my readers. people who I know love and care for me. And if I find out on Tuesday that I have not yet reached the target weight, then I am going to give my all in trying get to that healthy set point. If I learn I have already reached it or exceeded it, well, I then know I have to learn what I have to do to maintain that and not slip up, and, of course, focus on the hardest part, which is learning to accept my body in its natural, healthy state.

Because I know that my body does need that, more than ever: to be at its natural healthy set point. My periods are still absent, my osteoporosis is probably still severe, for all I know. My concentration, memory and energy levels are still not quite back on track. And I know all of these things aren't going to simply fix themselves if I just sit there passively and do nothing. The body will only ever be able to function normally and healthily again ONLY when it reaches its natural healthy set point. I know this; ED does, too, I am sure, but ED just wants me to close my eyes to it and remain huddled in the darkness, afraid to reach out towards the light. But no. I will not listen to Ed. I need to take an active part in my own recovery, as do we all. We only have one life, one body, one chance: and this is it. Why should any of us be forced to live a life of fear and anxiety and restriction? Why do we allow ourselves to live in fear of the dreaded number?

Your weight

is a numerical reflection

of your relationship with gravity.

It does not measure self-worth, 

courage, strength, gentleness, 

kindness, intelligence...

or love.

I know that my weight will never, ever determine just how much I love my Mam, nor just how much she loves me. xxx